Lladrad
by Jessi D
Summary: After a theft by an enemy thought long dead, a father must gather together his old companions to bring his daughter back home.
1. Chapter One: Targ

**Jessi: I do not own Forgotten Realms. All characters are mine.** Thank you for chosing to read this story and, please, do not forget to leave a review. Critism is fine too!

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**Chapter One: Targ**

Targ leant on the wall, his mouth set in a grim line and his brow furrowed deeply. The frown was directed at the small group that crowded the dirt track that ran past his farm. Specifically it was aimed at the couple sitting on identical bay horses of the finest stock if Targ was any judge.

Although Targ's garb was good, strudy cloth, much better than any farmer should be able to afford except for best, its practical cut seemed akin to rags compared to the strangers' apparal.

The woman wore a long, frilled gown, ridicously unsuited for riding. A triple string of white perals were hung about her neck and decorated the silly, frivolous mass of hair. The man's tunic was silk, a symbol of unimaginable wealth up in this part of Amn where most of the people were farm workers. The sleeves were slashed in, what Targ supposed, what was the latest fashion in Athkatla this year. This only served to cruelly emphasis his fat arms. He was grossly overweight; privately Targ was disgusted that the food he produced on his farm went to fill the tables of people like these.

"My answer is no," he stated flatly, arms crossing over his chest.

The nobleman's eyes narrowed, this one was obviously used to getting his own way,

"I assure you that the rewards are great."

"I know, I heard you. My answer, however, is still no."

"Why not? I demand that you see to this beast!"

Targ reached behind the wall and picked up the hoe that was there. Immediently there was movement amongst the guards. The farmer smiled, but it was not a pleasent one,

"I am a _retired_ dragonslayer and a good thing too," he hefted the hoe onto his shoulders, "Go back to Athkatla. Maybe you can find mercanaries crazy enough to go after a dragon. Now," the unpleasent smile widened, "I believe that this is _my_ land."

* * *

For every retired fighter there always seemed to be a dozen peiople waiting to pluck him out of his retirement. For a dragonslayer this went doubly so.

Though Targ had only killed two dragons in his entire career, and this with a score of adventurers behind him, it seemed that there was no rest for him.

From the profits he'd made from the dragons' horads he'd brought this farm and still had enough left over to but it again three more times. In time he'd married a woman from the local village, hardworking and kind Mari, and together they had a single child.

Lowri took after her mother and for that Targ was thankful. Instead of his grim features the only things his daughter had inherited from him were his steely grey eyes and that streak of toughness that hid beneath the surface like steel over silk.

Her pretty face, framed by flame-coloured hair, also hid a sharp mind and quick wit. Targ was considering sending her to learn magic from a trusted mage friend.

"Another employer Father?" her eyes were watching the hoe that he still carried. When the former dragonslayer grinned she continued, "Did you scare them again?"

"They wouldn't take no for an answer."

"I wasn't disapproving, Father," Lowri smiled as she walked into the comfortable house, "Dinner is nearly ready. I'll bring Menji in then we can eat. After all," her grin widened, "we don't want you breaking anything, do we?"

Targ's laugher followed her out into the yard.

* * *

Lowri whistled sharply, bringing Menji, a massive moorhound that looked to have a wolf somewhere in his ancestory, up to the house.

She glanced up at the darkening sky then frowned. There was something up there, a dark speck against the clouds. That was too large to be a bird wasn't it?

* * *

The sharp scream provoked Targ into moving faster than he'd ever thought he was able to do. He brushed the table as he darted past, sending a plate to the floor where it shattered into white shards. What he saw froze him to the spot.

The massive beast completly filled the yard, its wings held up high above the building. The scales shone a deep, blood red in the waning light, but even that couldn't conceal the multitude of scars that decorated its hide. White fangs stood out in its wide maw and a single eyes glowed like a moltan orb. The other was blinded, scar tissue covering that side of its face.

This was Barustrysori, the second dragon that Targ had killed.

In his front paw he clutched a madly screaming Lowri.

Targ watch helplessly as the red wyrm, began beating his wings, lifting himself into the air. Leaving, leaving with Lowri...

"An eye for an eye dragonslayer!" the voice boomed across the land as the dragon vanished rapidly from sight.

* * *

An eye for an eye.

It had been Targ's sword that had plunged into Barustrysori's eye, closing it forever. The dragon had fallen, had tumbled down the mountainside, into one of the deep gorges that remained permently in shadow.

But the wyrm had survived... and had taken Lowri.

Targ could have stood the destruction of his farm or his house. But the theft of Lowri...

Menji whimpered, a rare sound from the dog that had fought wolves and emerged the victor.

"Lowri... I will get you back."

* * *

It took remarkably little time to pack. Now Targ moved to the orantly carved chest that stood in an alcove. His fingers pressed down on three of the carved dragons, and a sharp click annouced that the chest was open.

From inside he took a wrapped object. The wrappings he discarded to reveal Cau, the sword the had blinded the red wyrm. Its very name was draconic, meaning to "shut" the eye- to blind someone.

Next was the half plate armour which he slowly donned, relishing in the fact that it had remained free of rust.

Finally he pulled out a saddle meant for a war horse and made his way to the stables.

Rhawn had been an expensive purchase but one he'd never regretted. Less than five years old, bred for strength and stamina, with a coat of many different shades of grey, Targ had brought him for the sum of two hundred gold coins.

Once saddled the beast strained at the reins as if keen to start the journey.

Targ would kill Barustrysori, that was certain. But to do that he'd need help.

And he knew where he could find it.


	2. Chapter Two: Forest

**Jessi: **Thank you for your review SirusLivesOn as well as pointing out the rating. I meant to set it to PG-13 but put it on G by mistake. That's been fixed now. Enjoy.

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**Chapter Two: Forest**

Targ glanced up at what little sky was visable through the leafy canopy. It was just gone dawn and the golden light hit the ground in brght lances. The trees here were far larger and older than any he'd seen back home.

There was no sign of human's touch or of any civilasation, but that just showed the skill of the inhabitants of this forest. Any trespasser in this place could, and in all likelyhood would, be shot before they even got a glimpse of another living creature.

Rhawn snorted bringing the dragonslayer back to Faerun. He'd been unwilling to let such a fine animal stay one of the nearby towns where your horse could be on the autioneer's stand, with parts of its coat carefully dyed, in an hour.

Instead Rhawn was led on the end of a halter rope while Menji trotted in front trying to catch any scents.

Before setting out Targ made sure that the little token was visable against his plate mail. The token was made of silver and in the shape of a falcon, its wings curved down around a glittering sapphire. On the reverse side an elegant elven rune was etched with acid.

It was worth a lot of money, but Targ would never sell it. Not only did this token, hopefully, allow him safe passage through this forest but it had been given to him by a good friend.

The dragonslayer continued onward, his thoughts on his absent daughter.

* * *

Targ heard the battle cries the same instant that the orc burst through the undergrowth. 

His battle instincts, dulled by years of farming, were slow to react and Cau was only halfway out of its sheath when the orc reached the dragonslayer.

A streak of reddish-brown hit the orc as Menji rushed to protect his master. The long, sharp teeth tore out the monster's throat and the moorhound howled, bloody prize disappearing down his gullet.

More noises were coming a little way off and Targ ran through the path the orc had made in the undergrowth.

A group of maybe ten orcs had surround a smaller group of three exchausted elves in this wide clearing. Bodies of both species littered the ground, two elven corpses still in their bedrolls around a dying campfire, their bodies pierced by many arrows.

It was clear that the elves would lose if something was not done.

Not bothering to undo the halter rope, Targ swung up in Rhawn's saddle, naked blade in his hand. Digging his heels into the war horse's sides he sent the mount charging forward with all the speed those powerful legs pocessed.

The orcs were taken by surprise and at once Cau took an orc's head off, another of the monsters vaished beneath Rhawn's hooves and Menji's already blood-stained fangs dug into an exposed leg. Targ brought his sword down to part an arm from the torso and a crimson fountain came violently into life.

The elves, standing back-to-back, worked their slender swords furiously as they began to edge towards the trio of newcomers. One of their number put his foot down in a slick pool of blood and stumbled, losing his balance for a second.

That second was all that was needed for an orc to plunge their blade into his side, between the ribs. To their credit the two remaining elves responded well, continuing towards Targ.

Menji was tearing at a second orc, the first lying dead in the grass. An orc slashed at Targ, who caught the blow on his armour and opened up the orc's throat. Cau sang as the strike reversed and killed another. Rhawn abruptly lashed out with his back legs, one of the monsters falling to the earth with a broken neck.

The two elven soldiers spun, one orc falling to the ground, his throat opened from ear-to-ear, the other trying to hold in the slippery entrails that were escaping his body. The enviserated orc lashed out with his blade in a wild strike and only one elf remained.

Cooly and methodically the final elf drove his blade into the neck of that orc and the dragonslayer finished of the last one.

* * *

Targ dismounted from Rhawn and wiped the blood from Cau on an orc's cloak. As he looked up he saw the surviving elf fall to the ground. 

"_Shit_!" the fighter cursed and ran up to the pale warrior. His finger sought a pulse and found one.

Luckily it was normal and regular, most likely it had been exchustion that caused the smaller being to faint. The elf would have been barely shoulder high to Targ. He had the pale blue-tinged skin of a moon elf, his long, black hair tied back from his face. Fine chain armour covered his slight frame and the thin, slightly curved sword was a masterpiece, patterns of leaves etched into the blade.

Not only was he small but he weighed barely nothing as Targ discovered when he placed the elf over Rhawn's saddle. He wondered how old the surviver was. The dragonslayer was not a brillant judge of these things but the elf looked barely past his first century.

"We'll find you some aid when I find Lledr. He'll know where to take you," he whistled sharply, "Menji! Come!"

The moorhound left his investigation of an orc corpse and followed his master out of the clearing, leaving the bodies of the dead behind.

* * *

Looking back Targ realised that he should have waited for the elven warrior to wake up before continuing to the elven city. It looked very incriminating, espically to the elven patrol who were aiming bows at his head. 

Hindsight is always perfect.

The patrol leader said something in rapid Elvish. The dragonslayer could speak enough of the language to get by but that swift speech was beyond him.

"Slower... please, slower," he replied in rusty Elvish.

The patrol leader did not comply and Targ lifted the token in the air,

"Teithr? Lledr Teithr?"

This caused another bout of Elvish from the group and two warriors came forward to seize one of his arms each.

* * *

Targ saw nothing of the elven city. He had been blindfolded for this walk. But now they removed the blind to reveal a good-sized entrance hall. An elegant curved stair way lead upwards. 

Two of the patrol gestured him up the stairs, hands on their sword hilts.

The stairs came out on a sunny balcony. Plants were set to best catch the sun and a small table also stood there. On one of the two chair reclined an elf who looked at them over the rim of a tea cup. He gasped, inhaling some tea in doing so and began coughing.

Targ moved forward and thumped the male elf on the back, until the coughing dissolved into laughter.

"Targ? Targ Anner? What in Corellon's name...?" the elf waved off the two warriors before standing, "I don't believe it! It's been..."

"Twenty years... You haven't changed a bit... Lledr."


	3. Chapter Three: Lledr

**Jessi:** Well this is a first for me. Three chapters in three days! Wow! Personally I blame the offer of cookies. How do you know my weakness?

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**Chapter Three: Lledr**

Lledr Teithr was indeed the same as he's been on the day the band had gone their seperate ways, elves living for eight centuries and beyond. Like the majority of the elves Targ had encountered he was a moon elf. His skin never strayed from a blue-tinged white colour. The shoulder length hair and bright eyes were an extraordinary shade of deep blue.

His appearence wasn't the only thing not to have changed. From the looks of the robe and the bed hair Lledr was still a late riser.

"I must say that I never expect you to be here," Lledr settled back down on his seat, taking up his tea again. Remembering his duties as a host he gestured to the other chair, "Please do have a seat."

Targ carefully studied the chair, a typically elven creation, favouring graceful, sprialling patterns. He doubted the four spindly legs would support his weight.

"I think I'll stand... Unless you don't like that chair." The elf chuckled, eyes closed. The dragonslayer laughed too. It was just like the old days when everyone would be eating and laughing around a roaring fire, talking about past adventures and of family...

Family!

Targ's laughter stopped abruptly and his eyes took on a haunted look. How could he be here, laughing when Lowri was in the hands of the red dragon.

"This isn't just a social call is it?" Lledr's eyes were sad.

"No. Lledr... I need your help."

"...I'm listening," the elf's pointy ears perked up slightly.

"Do you remember that red wyrm? Barus-"

"Barustrysori," Lledr glanced at his right arm, his eyes closed on remembered pain.

* * *

_The dragon turned, fire spilling from its wide maw. Lledr, his jump spell still in effect leapt for it, magic and elven dexterity propelling him across the cavern and out of harms way..._

_Almost..._

_The sleeve of his mage robes caught alight instantly. Screaming Lledr sunk to the floor, his eyes wide with horror as the pale flesh began to darken and blister._

* * *

"Cy' did an excellent job healing it but..." the mage glanced up, "Magic is my livelyhood... my _life_. Do you know what it's like? Almost having your entire career torn away from you? I'm just thankful to Corellon that the wyrm perished in the battle." 

"Lledr... I don't know how... but Barustrysori is alive."

"No!" the elf's eyes widened, "That's impossible!"

"I saw him with my own eyes... He stole my _daughter_..." Targ's fist were clenched on the memory.

"Your daughter... Gods, Targ, I'm sorry..." the elf stood up, "... If this is true... I wish it wasn't but... I will fight by your side."

"...Thank you..."

* * *

Lledr lightly desended the steps of his home, an effortless show of innate elven grace. He carried a small pack in one hand, a bag of holding. His body was clad in mage robes of blue and white and his hair had been brushed into a glossy fall. 

When he saw Rhawn he smiled and walked forward to stroke the subtle coat,

"This is a beautiful animal. Almost like an elven horse."

The mount Lledr had chosen was an actual elven horse, a light-footed mare, breed for speed, its coat the same colour as freshly fallen snow.

"Malurion is in Waterdeep... We should go their first then get Cy'. Then we can-" Targ stopped as another rider drew up beside them.

This horse was a chestnut coloured beast with a splash of white between its eyes. The rider Targ reconized as the elf that survived the orc attack. The warrior spoke to Lledr in more quick Elvish.

"Interesting. It seems that he wishes to accompany us... and won't take no for an answer, apparently," Lledr smiled, "He is young but a fearless warrior."

"His name?"

The young warrior tapped himself in the chest,

"Rhisiart."

The dragonslayer grinned,

"Croeso, Rhisiart." _Welcome. _


	4. Chapter Four: Waterdeep

**Jessi:** Yey! New chapter- slightly delayed by coursework and Six Nations Rugby... sorry.

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**Chapter Four: Waterdeep**

Targ inhaled deeply. The wind carried the clean tang of salt in from the sea. In front of them Waterdeep, the City of Splendors.

The city was built right up to the coastline where the eyes of the two elves could see the docks and the huge merchant ships from Amn, Luskan and even Calimshan, the hot land to the south. A wall surrounded Waterdeep with towers built into it in regular intervals. Mount Waterdeep, to the south rose into the sky, a single tower on the top its single feature.

The city was large, and Targ knew from personal experience that it was all too easy to get lost once within those walls. At this time of day crowds would fill the streets, every individual on their own urgent business.

Malurion was a hard person to find at the best of times, let alone in Waterdeep's maze of buildings.

"How long has it been since you last saw Malurion?" Targ studied the elven mage's face closly as he asked. Lledr's face flickered with an expression of anxiousness before he carefully hid it under a neutral face,

"It must be... At least fifteen years..."

The dragonslayer nodded, sighing as he realized the enormity of this task and sent Rhawn at a walk towards the single gate.

Lledr began to follow then halted. Rhisiart had turned so he could look back at the way they had come-back towards the elven city. The young warrior than stared at Waterdeep, a familar expression blossoming onto his pale face.

It was a mixture of disdain, of sorrow and that all-consuming emotion that was _hiraeth_.

It was difficult to translate the word _hiraeth_ into the myriad tongues of Men. The word was not simply the Elvish for longing, but a specific longing: one for home. In that simple word and elf could express the sorrow of leaving behind friends and family and the fear that home would never be seen again.

"Rhisiart?"

At the sound of his own name the black hairwed elf started, his face atomatically composing itself into a blank mask.

"Lord Teithr," with a polite bow of his head Rhisiart kicked his horse into a trot. A second later the older elf followed.

* * *

The young warrior glanced from side to side as they entered Waterdeep. There was indeed a thick press of people on the streets, the horses were forced to walk in a single line. The sheer number of the humans amazed him. Elves bred slowly, one child born every fifty or sixty years to a couple was the norm. But these humans, he slowly shook his head in amazement.

To him it was impossible to imagine a species that bred this fast... It was no wonder that nature had been pushed aside to make room for all these people. That thought sadden him. In Rhisiart's birthplace the buildings had skillfully blended in and compilmented nature, causing as little harm has possible.

Here though the buildings were crammed together, rectanglar and cold-looking.

Shivering, the young elf retreated into the protective folds of his cloak.

* * *

"Malurion could be anywhere... I honestly do not where..." Lledr looked down at the remains of his meal, "But still in Waterdeep that I am certain of..." His slender, white fingers were beating a restless rythme on the table.

"Always was a slippery one," Targ mused to himself and the mage nodded in agreement. The dragonslayer continued, "We start searching in the morning," he gestured to the bar, "Nightcap?"

The blue-haired elf nodded and wandered over to the counter, his brow slightly furrowed in thought. Targ leant back and closed his eyes.

* * *

"Teithr?" Lledr turned, slightly confused at being addressed in his family name by an unfamilar voice in this city. A hooded and cloaked woman stood a little way away and in her hand was...

The mage leapt sideways just as the crossbow was fired. Landing neatly in a crouch he glanced up to see the bolt embedded in the wood just where his head had been. The assassin spat out an unlady-like curse and drew a dagger from her belt.

Panicked patrons, unused to barfights in this pleasent area of Waterdeep, began to flee the building as the mage unseathed his own silvery blade, the assassin was too close for him to use magic.

Targ, cut off from the mage by the press of the crowd, stood uselessly. Rhisiart, slender sword naked in his hand, was similarly trapped.

The assassin lunged at the mage, blade flashing in the light. Lledr side-stepped, but his answering strike was caught on the woman's dagger. The human, however, lashed out in a lightning fast kick, scoring a hit directly on the elf's slender chest.

The mage sprawled onto the floor, rolling immediently away from the woman. She now had another dagger in her left and she crouched in a fighter's stance. Lledr was panting, one hand over his chest, face showing his pain.

"Shit! Lledr!" the dragonslayer begna to push against the crowd.

Abruptly the assassin screamed and staggered to the side, a bright knife appearing in between her ribs. A cloaked figure, another throwing knife in their pale fingers, stood at the other end of the inn. The woman shrieked and, in anger threw one of her daggers.

It missed, but the throwing knife from the other figure did not and she fell dead onto the floor, the knife standing upright in her throat.

* * *

Lledr stood slowly, his movements a little easier. When he saw the cloaked figure, however, he dropped his dagger and ran to them, all pain forgotten as the two embraced. 


	5. Chapter Five: Malurion

**Jessi:** Again I must apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I'm ill and currently feel like shit (to put it bluntly). The next chapter may also be late if I don't recover. Sorry...

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**Chapter Five: Malurion**

As Targ entered the building he whistled low under his breath,

"You've certainly come up in the world." Underneath his hood a smile widened on Malurion's face, a small expression of pride in his home.

Home for Malurion was now a manor in a wealthy district of Waterdeep and, though in a human city, elven influence showed through. The garden was filled with huge trees, shielding the house from the street. The door had been a thick wooden one, covered in elegant carvings of animals and elven runes of protection and welcome.

When that door had been opened by a servant it had lead into an entrance hall where, redolent of the Teithr household, a single curved stairway lead to the upper levels. On either side of the stairs stood marble statues, one of paladin, the other of a gold dragon. Expensive tapestries covered the walls, made of silk and velvet with percious stones sewn into to them.

Malurion turned back to his companions,

"It is a pleasure to see you all in Waterdeep..." his blue eyes glanced towards the mage, "We should talk in my study."

Malurion led them up the stairs, seeming unconcerned of the accompanying moorhound. He opened the first door that they came too, another work of art, this time in pale wood.

Lledr was the first one to speak once they were inside,

"I see that you have been... busy."

Malurion was a rogue and a dragonstalker by trade, he had indeed been kept busy in the latter trade. Mounted on the walls were the heads of five dragons: ranging from the alligator-like visage of a green dragon over the fireplace to the gaunt black dragon head on the opposite wall. A long desk made from a dark, tropical wood was facing the door. The wall above this was reserved for a longbow, made out of the bone of a dragon- the first dragon slain with Targ and the others, the old blue dragon, Haeddiant.

The rogue undid his cloak and hung it on the coat rack by the door then settled behind the desk.

Malurion had changed. Not as much as the dragonslayer had but there were slight differences. He had filled out his previous emaciated figure and looked healther. His hair was cut neatly into a shorter style. The clothes he wore were elegantly styled and made from costly material

The Teithr family resemblence was as strong as ever though. Like his older brother Lledr, Malurion had the extraordinary deep blue eyes and hair as well as the pale, blue-tinged skin. However the eyes seemed unnaturally old and across his left cheek were three parallel scars travelling straight across.

Rhisiart suddenly let out a cry and drew his sword, speaking in his rapid Elvish, his tone threatening. The Teithr elves unseathed their own weapons- a dagger and a shortsword- and abruptly added their own quick speech.

Targ's head reeled with the effort of keeping up with them, but he gathered that most of the shouting was directed to Rhisiart. The black-haired elf appeared to be trying to get around Lledr to attack Malurion.

The argument abruptly ended with the sound of flesh on flesh. Rhisiart staggered back, Lledr's handprint a vivid red against the warrior's pale flesh. The mage spoke slowly in Elvish,

"I will not stand here and allow my family to be insulted-"

"But Lord Teithr! He is _herwr_!" Rhisiart protested. Behind Lledr, Malurion flinched. The dark-haired elf continued, "Don't you know what will happen if you are caught with him?"

"I am aware of the penalties."

"Lord Teithr... please do not risk yourself for a murderer-"

At this Malurion slammed his fist on the desk top,

"I didn't murder anyone!" He got to his feet and Rhisiart brought his sword up as the younger Teithr elf headed towards the door. He paused by his older brother,

"Perhaps it would be best, Lledr, if you weren't seen with an outcast."

With that he swept out of the door.


	6. Chapter Six: Past

**Jessi:** When trying to write this chapter I got stuck. Suddenly inspiration struck me last night and this is the result. It's inspired by _Zatoichi_, possibly the greatest samurai movie ever made, random thoughts in my brain and _The Tommy-Knockers_ by Stephen King.

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**Chapter Six: Past**

Rhisiart kept his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, his hair falling forward to disguise his face as he knelt on the floor. One knee rested on the uncomfortable wooden floor and his left leg was held in a stiff right angle, foot on the floor. His corresponding arm rested on his thigh and his right arm came forward and upwards to grasp the hilt of his leaf-patterned blade.

He kept concentrating on the point of the slender sword and thought about how he'd like to take it and push it into the neck of the mage.

He kept berating himself for such violent thoughts. The Teithr family had been kind enough to take him in and train him in the use of this blade when the eldest Teithr child, Emrys, discovered that particular talent within him.

Yet his mind kept returning to the day when his parents were killed by outcast elves, while he was at the tender age of fifteen, escaping only by tumbling into a cave.

The black-haired elf had come to in a house with falcons carved on the doors, grand staircases and healthy, well-dressed servants. The family that lived here were nobles, though they did not act like the nobles his father had talked about in a bitter tone.

Mihangel and Eryri, couldn't have been nicer to him. He had been slightly worried about their three children but those fears were groundless.

Emrys was the oldest, a fearless and unbeatable warrior with a kind and carefree spirit. With her deep blue hair and eyes and flawless features he though she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Lledr was quiet and studious and training to be a mage.

Malurion was merely five years older than Rhisiart, confident and outgoing with a silver tongue.

The first time the black-haired elf had met them he'd been immediately struck by their similarity. All three siblings were so close to each other in appearance and in their relationship.

It had been Malurion who was the closest to him... had been the closest, a friend and companion for many years.

The young warrior hissed, as jumbled images flashed through his head. Malurion and Rhisiart- inseparable- running through the forest on a hunt with Emrys or out riding with Lledr. More broken memories flooded him.

The leaf-patterned sword clattered on the wooden floor as Rhisiart clutched at his head, slender fingers disappearing into the shadow-black strands of his hair. Pain gnawed at the inside of his skull, something that happened on-and-off. Groaning, Rhisiart bent double.

There was a soft, metallic sound, a slight pause and then an equally soft voice came to fill the silence,

"That's no way to treat Emrys' sword," glancing up Rhisiart saw Lledr standing beside him, the blade in one of his pale hands. The mage knelt slowly and proffered the object in his other hand.

It was a porcelain bowl, filled with water with a folded compress. The black-haired elf took it and stared down at his reflection as Lledr set the beautiful weapon down onto the floor and got up to leave.

"...I am sorry that I insulted your family... Lord Teithr. Please forgive me."

"Rhi, it's your family too..." Lledr turned back to regard the younger elf, "Please don't ever forget that."

When the black-haired elf spoke no more the mage left the room.

* * *

Malurion sat on the floor, knees drawn up close to his chest. It was this part of the house that he went to when he needed to think. It was the house chapel, dedicated to Corellon Larthian, the God of Elves. Most of the servants here were half-elves and some worshipped Corellon but at this time of night the chapel was empty.

The rouge was thinking- thinking back to the night that ruined his live forever.

* * *

_Today the Teithr house was in an uproar. Today Neiltu returned home._

_"Who is Neiltu?" Rhisiart, clad in his best clothes and perched on the end of a desk, cocked his head to one side in confusion._

_"Neiltu is our uncle- a famous war leader. He's been gone since Lledr was small," at Emrys' mention of his name Lledr looked up from his book,_

_"Pardon?"_

_"Back to your book, Lledr," Emrys laughed as he complied with no hesistantion. She picked up her sword, and drew it to transfer it to another sheath that matched her gown. _

_"Em, will we still be able to continue our sword practice?" Rhisiart's talent at swordplay had been discovered last year and he was almost as good as Emrys now. _

_"Of course. Dendar would have to swallow the sun before I'd miss it."_

_"I hope I get to be like you one day, Em."_

_Emrys leant closer and smiled,_

_"You will be... Tell you what, if anything happens to me _you_ can have my sword."_

_"Promise?"_

_"I promise."_

_

* * *

_

_The four elven youngsters rode behind Lord and Lady Teithr in two rows, Emrys and Lledr in front and Malurion and Rhisiart behind them. All six rode near-identical white horses with matching blue tack. Their guards all wore the falcon crest of the Teithr house, their chain mail polished until it shone in the sunlight._

_Neiltu arrived in no-less grand a fashion. Leading a large column of elven soldiers on dazzling white charger and clad in brilliantly bright plate armour, decorated with elven runes of protection and battle, he was every inch a war hero..._

_Or so they thought._

_

* * *

_

_"Have you noticed something different about Rhisiart?"_

_It was a tenday after Neiltu's return. It should be a happy occasion, and there had indeed been many feasts and celebrations. Yet the black-haired Teithr seemed not to be sharing the general mood about the place._

_"Now that you mention it," Lledr put down his book and leant back in his chair, "He does seem more withdrawn lately."_

_Malurion glanced up at Emrys,_

_"There's been more outcast attacks recently. Maybe it brought back bad memories?"_

_"Rhi has always been closest to you, Malurion. Maybe you should talk to him?" Emrys knew this to be the truth, the two youngest were near-inseparable. If anyone would be able to coax the truth out of their adopted sibling it would be Malurion._

_

* * *

_

_Malurion had been worried about this conversation to say the least. Every time he saw Rhisiart an irrational feeling of fear grew in the pit of his stomach, making him nauseous. It was only now, when everyone else had retired to their rooms long ago that he started padding softly down the hall. His passage was silent, a skill that would serve him well in his future career as a rouge and a dragonstalker._

_He reached Rhisiart's door, carved with the familiar swooping falcon carved onto the surface. When he tried the door, he found that it was locked, an odd thing for Rhisiart._

_Frowning, he glanced around before removing something from his sleeve. It was a lock pick he'd stolen from the guard's room. The pick and the others like it in the roll of black velvet hidden in his room had once belonged to an unsuccessful thief that tried to steal a prized sapphire necklace from Lady Eryri Teithr. The burglar hadn't reckoned with the protection spells woven about various valuables around the house._

_Malurion's practising paid off and the door opened without a sound. As the elf saw what was happening in the other room he staggered back, his mouth opened with just as much sound as the door. _

_His young mind struggled to take in what was happening and when he did finally make a sound, it was a tiny hoarse cry. But by that time Neiltu had seized him and had dragged him into the room behind the closed door. _

_"Please... please... don't do this," Malurion heard himself beg as he frantically backed into the corner. He'd didn't want this to happen. He didn't want to end up like Rhisiart, lying on sheets stained with blood and semen, tears of shame, terror and pain working their way down his face, bright crimson fluid on his arm where he'd bitten so hard it had drawn blood._

_"Rhi, did Mal-" Emrys froze as she looked upon the scene and that was her doom. Neiltu sprang forward, bowling her backwards. Unfortunately the only thing behind her was a flight of stairs. _

_By the time she hit the floor she was dead, her neck bent at an impossible angle. _

_Red mists desended in front of Malurion's vision. He saw the dagger lying on the desk. He picked it up and he didn't let go of it until he was hit across the head with a sword hilt. _

_He'd stabbed the raping murderer sixteen times._

_

* * *

_

_The only one who did not remember Malurion's banishment was Rhisiart. The black-haired elf, trumatised by the experience, had gone into a state almost like sleep walking._

_When he had snapped out of it Lledr told him that Malurion had been made an outcast._

_Crimes like this one makes people blind, blind and stupid. They needed a scapegoat._

_Malurion had been that scapegoat._


	7. Chapter Seven: Reconciliation

**Jessi:** What can I say? I can't say no to reviews.

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Reconciliation**

Malurion eased open the door to one of the guest chambers, all too aware of the consequences that had occurred the last time he'd had looked for Rhisiart. There was nothing amiss here though. Moving with all the stealth he possessed he entered the room, closing the door behind him.

The guest rooms were all large and comfortable, cool in the summer and, when the fireplaces were lit in the winter, warm. The walls were painted a cream colour and the floor was of dark wood. The bed was made up with white bedding and it was on this that he found Rhisiart.

His adopted sibling was asleep, lying on his back, one arm lying over his stomach. On his forehead was a damp compress, slightly hidden beneath trailing strands of his hair. The rest of the dark tresses were out of Rhisiart's habitual horsetail and were instead spread out on the pillow, a sharp contrast to the white linen.

The rouge noted that the younger elf had fallen asleep in his clothes, but had removed his chain mail and his sword belt. Both were hung neatly over the chair in the corner.

Sighing, he reached over to remove the compress, starting when Rhisiart's eyes opened.

* * *

"...Malurion," the dark-haired elf sat up, catching the damp cloth when it fell from its place. Reaching over, he replaced it in the bowl before drawing his knees up to his chest.

"I... I wanted to see if you were all right..." the blue-haired elf, glanced down at his boots and then at the bowl, "You still get your headaches?"

"Not as often as before... but they still happen sometimes," Rhisiart ran his hands through his hair, pushing the strands back away from his face. An awkward silence settled in the room before Rhisiart sighed and swung his legs off the bed.

"Rhi? Why did you draw your sword on me?"

The dark haired elf paused and turned slightly in Malurion's direction,

"Because you are an outcast," he spoke after a long pause.

"Is that it? For Corellon's sake Rhi!" the rouge's fists clenched, "I'm your fucking _brother_!"

"But you-"

"But nothing! _I did not murder anyone who did not deserve it_! I did it protecting _you_! Or did you forget?

"I still wake up screaming," the younger elf bluntly put in, "I drew my sword on you, not because of you, but because of Lledr."

"Lledr?"

"You know full well what the punishment is for aiding an outcast elf. I..." Rhisiart's eyes closed, "I don't what to lose any more family. I don't want Lledr to lose his head."

"Lledr made his own decision, Rhi. We've been in contact for the past thirty years."

"What?"

"He was travelling with Targ and a band of adventurers out after dragons. They stopped off in Waterdeep and Lledr found me... I was begging for scraps and stealing what I could to stay alive. He barely reconized me, I was so thin..." Malurion glanced down at his boots, "I acted like you at first, I didn't want Lledr to be caught either but..." a small smile graced his features, "you know what Lledr is like. I ended up travelling with them and the rest as they say is history," he turned away before speaking again, "I've been talking with Targ... he wants me to go rescue his daughter... I'll go, but only if you want me to. I won't endangered you against your will."

He had opened the door when something grabbed his arm,

"You were begging for scraps, all because you were protecting me... If I had said something, told them what happened... maybe you wouldn't have been banished," Rhisiart's head lowered, tears of shame making their way down his cheeks. He gasped slightly as Malurion hugged him,

"It's all right Rhi. It's all right."

"Forgive me..."

"I never blamed you... Blame Neiltu. Blame him, not yourself."

Reunited at last the brothers embraced.


	8. Chapter Eight: Sickness

**Jessi: **Sorry about the lateness of my chapter but my computer decided to die. Happily it's now working and I can get back on the internet.

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Sickness**

Malurion's steed was not a nimble, light-footed thing like the elf-horses, nor was it a sleek beast like Rhawn. It was instead a massive stallion with a shaggy grey coat, peppered with white. Two dark eyes surveyed the world from beneath a roughly cut mane. The horse was not a handsome animal and its temper was just as ugly.

When Targ passed by to saddle Rhawn it was only by a hair's breath that the slightly-yellowed, tombstone teeth missed his arm.

Its name was Tymer, the elvish word for temper, a suitable name indeed.

As Malurion came round the corner, his arms full of tack, the dragonslayer mentally crossed his fingers. With baited breath they all watched as the rouge saddled Tymer, patted him on his side and swung up into the saddle. Throughout it all the horse had remained perfectly still.

"Where did you get him?" Targ said, eyebrows raised. Malurion smiled and stroked the white mane,

"Brought him from a group of dragonstalkers. Best stay away from Tymer, he's an evil-minded bastard," seeming satisfied with that description of his mount, the moon elf kicked Tymer into a walk. Targ could have sworn that the horse smiled too.

* * *

Lledr studied his two younger brothers. They rode side-by-side on the road, speaking between themselves in Elvish. Both looked a lot happier and the mage was glad that, after the events of last night, their relationship had healed.

This certainly was different from the last time they rode out of Waterdeep with Targ. Instead of the mass of lice-ridden rags or borrowed things of Lledr's, Malurion wore expensive travelling clothes, tailored to fit his slight frame perfectly.

Things were looking up for the dragonstalker.

* * *

The next member of Targ's old adventuring band was Cy' and he lived on the coast. It was a pleasant enough area, if a little isolated. The supplies that they had reinforced with food brought from the last village were running thin so Malurion had gone hunting in the thick woodland that ran right up to the cliff edge.

The rouge silently went from shadow to shadow, an arrow readied on his long bow. To any average traveller he would be completely invisible. To someone skilled at woodcraft, merely difficult to see.

It seemed usually hot. Frowning, the moon elf dashed his sleeve across his forehead. At this time of year he shouldn't be sweating.

Malurion forced himself to concentrate. Up ahead he had spotted a herd of deer and, as a testimony to his skill, they had not detected him.

With an easy motion he raised his bow and sighted along the arrow. It was difficult to aim, the scene was blurring before his eyes. The rouge began to sway on his feet, his weapon lowering. He made no noise, even as he collapsed face-down into the dirt.

* * *

"Malurion has been gone a long time..." Rhisiart stared into the forest where Malurion had vanished over three hours ago.

"Maybe game is scare here? It's not like he could get lost in a _forest_," Targ scratched the head of Menji who was enjoying the warmth of the fire and laughed. Lledr glanced up from his spell book and saw the worried expression on his younger brother's face,

"I sure Malurion is fine, Rhi."

After a moment's pause the black-haired elf got to his feet, brushing himself off,

"We at least need something to eat. I'll find us something."

With that he ran silently into the trees.

* * *

It would be hard to track Malurion, even harder in the dark. Rhisiart was sure that his elder brother needed his help though. The dragonstalker boasted that he could bring something back within ten minutes and both of them had won a lot of bets.

He spun around, hand on his weapon, when something touched his leg. A sigh of relief escaped his lips when all he saw was Menji, thick tail wagging. Together they ran deeper into the forest.

* * *

Malurion lifted his head, something which now took a tremendous amount of effort. Everything seemed blurry and unreal. Sweat trickled down his face and back, making his clothes stick to his body. The heat that he remember before he lost consciousness had gone, instead it had been replaced by icy chills.

He shivered and tried to move his arms.

He saw then that his arms had been stretched out and tied to a rough, wooden frame. Splinters dug into the bare flesh of his arms, briefly he wondered where his cloak and coat were. His long bow was nearby, lying in the soft dirt.

"He's awake," a voice, speaking Common, most likely a human. Malurion's vision was so blurred now that he could barely see ten feet past his nose.

"What's a fancy prince like yerself doin' in our neck of the woods," another voice came from somewhere in the blurred regions, "We'll make a pretty penny sellin' yer back to-" he spoke no more, his sentence ending in a strangled gurgle that sounded exactly as if...

* * *

...the knife sliced through his throat and the bandit went down, blood spraying from the gaping hole like a macabre fountain. Rhisiart was already drawing his sword and before the others had turned back in his direction he'd taken the head from another. He landed in a neat crouch, sword strokes passing over his head.

The fact that there were still seven more did not bother the young elf. Back home he had fought in sword tournaments against elves one hundred years his senior and he'd won, the circlet of silver leaves had been placed on his head, shining against his black hair. These humans had learned sword fighting from other amateurs and as one bandit found out, its very easy to hit your companions when your opponent is quicker than a wasp and almost as hard to hit. The bandit fell, the sword of his comrade in his ribs.

Emrys' sword came up in an arc, and slimy entrails escaped to land on the dirt floor. The edge of the blade kissed a bandit's throat, opening up a thin line of crimson. Menji chose that moment to pounce, teeth closing on an exposed neck. Rhisiart spun, lashing out with his sword, sending two bandits sprawling, never to get up again. Finally he drove the blade up to the hilt into the last bandit's gut.

Lightly, he ran up to Malurion, bending briefly to regain his knife. Immediately he got the short blade to work on his brother's bounds.

"Rhi..." as the black-haired elf turned towards the faint cry he bit back a gasp. The dragonstalker was completely drenched in sweat and his body trembled in fits and starts. On his bare arm was a shallow cut, no more than a scratch really. However, it was oozing a mixture of blood and pus and the wound itself had turned black.

"'Ssassin dagger musta clipped it," Malurion's speech was thick and mumbled, each syllable strained, "Poison."

"We will get you to Lledr. He'll know what to do," Rhisiart's eyes were wide as he supported the other elf on a staggered journey to the bandit's horses, "Come on, just a bit-" he stopped his sentence midflow.

Surrounding the campfire was a thick mass of bandits, all with drawn swords.


	9. Chapter Nine: Amulet

**Jessi:** The exams are over and I can write again. Thank you all for being so patient.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Amulet**

Rhisiart's eyes were wide as he looked at the bandits, his heart hammered itself against his ribs. Still he clung to Emrys' sword, the last thing he had of his late sister.

"Drop the sword. Fancy blade or not, yer can't defeat all me men," their leader stank of spirits and sweat. Food stained his greasy leathers. The short swords at his sides were well-looked after and business-like from their plain hilts wrapped with soft hide to the notched blades.

The black-haired elf swallowed and lowered Malurion to the ground. From inside his shirt he retrieved an ornate amulet. He was not sure this would work. Though he bore the name Rhisiart Teithr, he was an adopted orphan. If Malurion wasn't so weak he would use his blood for this. Lledr, who had inherited the _Teithr Achubiaeth_ when the death of Emrys made him the eldest child, didn't even know that the young warrior had this.

Sighing he raised his sword and swiftly cut open the palm of his hand. The blood welled up out of the cut, running through the intricate lines of the falcon that graced the amulet, turning them scarlet. Old and blackened blood poured from the hole where the falcon's eyes would be, overwhelming the fresh crimson of Rhisiart's.

Rhisiart closed his silver eyes as the liquid poured over his hand, twisting into long, sticky tentacles. They burrowed into his flesh, joining with his own veins making them bulge under his white flesh. The blood, the ancient lifeblood of the Teithr family, bonded with his.

His hand lifted and the killing began.

* * *

A feral screech caused Targ and Lledr to leap to the feet, the elven mage reaching for spell components and Targ for Cau. The attacks were forgotten as something leapt into the camp.

It would have stood as tall as an elf had it not been hunched over. It resembled an elf, to a degree. The angular face was stretched out into a curved beck, razor edge covered in blood. Its eyes were black pits. The legs were almost too deformed to walk on and ended in elven feet with four bird-like talons, much too large for the foot they sprouted from.

It had four arms. One pair was jointed the wrong way and had feathers growing out of the flesh. They ended in a pair of withered hands. The other pair grew out of the creature's chest, much smaller than the other pair but ending with hands, twisted by the massive talons growing from the fingers.

It was the smaller pair that held its cargo, a young elf and a longbow made from dragon bone.

"Malurion!" Lledr ran towards the half-bird, half-elf creature, ignoring the dragonslayer's attempts to stop him.

The creature screeched again, lunging for the elven mage.

"Stop."

It obeyed the quiet command, instantly, freezing in position, one hand still reaching for Lledr.

Out from between the trees came Rhisiart.

His eyes looked forward, blank and glassy. His veins were bulging from his flesh on his face, his arms and his neck. More had escaped from the palms of his hands to clutch the sword tighter. In his left hand they were so many that they completely obscured the object held there.

"Drop."

Malurion limply fell to the ground.

"Kill."

With power that seem impossible from its deformed limbs the creature launched itself forward into a bandit that was charging towards them. Talons tore easily through flesh and bone alike.

"Oh gods Rhi, you didn't..." the mage covered his mouth with his slender hands, his eyes wide with shock and fear, "No. No, no, _no_! It'll kill you Rhi! _Stop it_!"

He shook his younger brother by the shoulders then reached for the amulet. Blood flashed briefly, and Lledr stepped backwards, staring at his bloodied fingers.

"I can't Lledr," a soft voice spoke, the voice of Rhisiart that was even now being drowned out by multiple others, the voices of the Teithr's ancestors, "I can't stop it..."


End file.
